


Communication

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Competence Kink, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Furiosa is the most eaten out character in fandom history, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Movie(s), Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:03:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t know if it’s her road warrior’s skill in reading a situation, or that she’s attuned to him, to his mind and his body. He doesn’t know which he finds sexier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Communication

Furiosa is at her desk when Max comes back to their room, looking up to smile a welcome. He puts his gear away, checking that nothing needs maintenance, then comes over. She’s adjusting her prosthetic, running a new hydraulic line through the body of the arm. It’s a delicate job, especially one-handed, but the arm rests snugly in the repair cradle she’s made for it, and she knows exactly how to use her nub to nudge a tool or hold it steady. 

Perching beside her on the bench, he watches her pull the line into place, her focus as she clips it down. He isn’t expecting the rush of heat that hits him as he looks from her face to her long, careful fingers, his cock not just twitching but demanding.

She feels it at once, because of course she does. He doesn’t know if it’s her road warrior’s skill in reading a situation, or that she’s attuned to him, to his mind and his body. He doesn’t know which he finds sexier.

She gives him a little nod, then goes back to work. He’d seen her pupils widen, can hear her breathing faster, but her movements are as clean and deft as before. She slots a part back into place above the new line, screws it into place, tests the movement carefully. She swallows as she unclamps the arm, puts the cradle away in the desk drawer with exaggerated ease – the first hint of self-consciousness she’s shown. It makes him want to growl. 

She gets up to hang the finished arm on its hook, takes off her boots and goes to the washstand to clean her hand and nub. Max watches her move, the line of her neck and the curve of her bum. When she comes back, she climbs straight onto him, crotch pressing down on his with enough friction to be nothing like enough. His mouth is already on her shoulder, the first place he could reach, kissing hot and wet up her throat. Her hand gropes for the hem of his shirt.

There’s a tangled moment when he’s trying to undo her trousers and she’s trying to get his shirt over his head. Once he gets his arms free, he lifts her up onto the desk, tugging her leathers past her hips, down her thighs. It doesn’t give her enough space to spread her legs, so he yanks one trouser leg off completely, leather and underwear trailing. He means to do the same for the other side, but she’s already wriggling on the desk top, leaning back and opening her legs for him. 

Max hums, kisses the curve of sinew between her pussy and her thigh. He doesn’t have the patience to tease her, or himself. He parts her lips with his fingers, and licks straight into her cunt. He loves the taste of her, the strength and wetness of the muscle. He thinks about coming inside her, remembering the way she squeezes around him, pulling him in deeper as he lets go. He shifts on the bench, trying to adjust his cock while lapping at her clit. When her hips start to twitch, he braces his forearm across her belly, holding her steady as he sucks her greedily through her orgasm.

When he comes up for air, it’s to find her smiling at him. She’s sprawled out over the desk, legs deliberately open and welcoming. She hooks her bare foot around his back, encouraging him up, sliding forward when he steps between her thighs. She wraps her legs around him, reaching for his cock when he shoves his trousers down. Max lines himself up, lets her guide him in. She feels wonderful, pushing up to meet him, her body opening up and closing down on him in the same wet, tight slide. 

The desk is too low. Max’s legs aren’t that long, but he still has to bend his knees to keep the angle right, awkward even with the support of his brace. He wants to favour his right leg, which makes it harder to thrust straight. He grunts in frustration. 

Furiosa leans back, grinding her pelvis up against him, shifting her legs to grip higher around his waist. Then she tugs at his shoulder, yanking him forwards. He almost loses his balance, hands landing on either side of her. She gives a little purr, rocking into the hard, accidental thrust. With more squirming, and some giggling, they get to a position that works for both of them. He pumps into her, groans when he feels her shiver and clench. 

She smiles lazily up at him, thighs holding tight and hips tilting up. He growls at that, braces himself and starts to fuck into her, hard and fast, hearing the grunt of her breath and the wet squelch as he thrusts.

He’s been wanting just this since he watched her fix her arm, since he saw her look of concentration. Her focus is on him now, her eyes on his face as she slides her fingers down to her clit. He’s got into a rhythm where he feels he never wants to stop, pumping hard and smooth as she gasps and touches herself under him. 

She takes her hand away, strokes down his chest, letting it rest for a moment against his belly. Her eyes slip shut, something he’s seen her do when she wants to soak up what she’s feeling. She moves her hand back between her legs, working ruthlessly at herself. 

She opens her eyes just before she starts to come, and he can’t stop moving, hips jerking harder of their own accord. Everything’s going faster, the rush of knowing he can’t stop. He comes hard, shuddering into her in long spurts, moaning loud. 

Max sinks back onto the bench, pulling Furiosa with him. Her legs are clamped so firmly around him that he doesn’t slip out; he can feel the aftershocks running through her cunt. He’s panting, giving little growls of satisfaction. She murmurs and kisses him, rests her forehead against his. 

His cock is starting to soften, but he doesn’t want to pull away just yet. Her muscles are still twitching, making him wonder if she can come again. He wraps his arm around her, so that the edge of the desk won’t dig into her back, and slides his hand to her clit.

He’s much gentler than she was with herself, rubbing little circles. He doesn’t need to go any harder: she’s already worked up, on the edge of overstimulation. She whimpers as he strokes her, tremors running through her. He kisses her again, tips her more firmly back against his arm, and keeps going, soft and steady and relentless.

He leans in to kiss her nipple, knowing that’s likely to tease another whimper from her. Instead, he gets distracted by her flushed face. She looks open and abandoned, her head tilted back, panting as his fingers press and stroke. He loves her power and control, the assurance with which she wields them. Now she’s letting go for him, her guard entirely down. The vulnerability of it makes him swallow. He brushes a kiss onto her breastbone. 

When he lifts his head, she’s looking right at him, eyes hazy and trusting. On the road, in battle, looks are how they communicate, everything said in a glance. When it comes to words, to quieter times, it stops being effortless. He always wants to look at her, always, but sometimes he can’t do it for long. His gaze will skitter away from the intensity of it. In bed, it can go either way. He’ll know from one look what she needs, what they’ll both like. Or he’ll bury his face in her shoulder or her thigh, hoping touch will make up for the words he isn’t saying, the looks he can’t meet. 

He wants to do that now, to kiss her breasts and duck away from her eyes. But if he does, he’ll be leaving her on her own, just as she’s opening herself to him. He grips her tighter, holds her gaze. By the time she comes, with a long, high moan, they’re both trembling.

This time, it’s Furiosa who presses her face against his neck, pushing closer as he strokes her back. Max eases out of her, lifts and turns her to sit sideways on his lap. Her trousers trail as he picks her up, so he tugs them off her foot, leaving his own untidily around his knees. She’s loose-limbed and soft, going easily when he moves her. He’s tempted just to carry her to bed, to wrap her up and cuddle her, keep her safe and warm until she’s recovered. He holds her close instead, her head on his shoulder as she comes down. Her pussy feels wet and sticky against his bare thigh. He’s absurdly pleased by it, by the thought that they’d made that mess of slick and come together. He nuzzles at the top of her head, kissing her short hair as he strokes her bare hip.

Furiosa leans against him, her nub tucked around him. Her breathing is returning to normal, but she still seems woozy, curled against his chest. He strokes down her arm, over her thigh, her skin soft under his hand. For a long time, she lies still in his arms, long enough that he wonders if he should take her to bed after all. Then she stirs against his shoulder, snuggling closer, face still hidden. She lifts her hand to his face, finding his lips. He turns his head to kiss her fingertips, one by one.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
